Murphy's Law
by Big Edna
Summary: The saga continues right where we left off with Trent, Carlos, and Kim. Guest starring Walker and Trivette
1. Chapter 1

Nov 1999:

Trent Malloy sat in his baby blue Stingray staring at a picture and thinking. His old friend, Margo Jones, looked back at him from the paper, mismatched eyes separated by a crease that ran down the length of the photo.

It had been at least a year since he'd seen her last. For her parents, the separation had been unbearable.

_"We ain't heard from her in 14 months," Margo's mom had told him. "Her office won't let her own parents talk to her!"_

_"We knew stuff like this might happen when she told us she was considering a career in the FBI," her father had added in a sad voice that tugged at Trent's heart strings, "but she promised us we'd hear from her periodically. We can't get any straight answers from her office."_

_"We just want to know that our baby girl is alright, Trenton!" her mother had exclaimed._

Trent had assured them that he would get to the bottom of this, and several days of snooping, sleuthing, and charming the receptionist at the FBI building in Dallas had led him here, to an abandoned school house and, he was beginning to suspect, a dead end.

This would go so much faster, be so much easier, if he were to ask his office manager to do some research on the computer, but Kim didn't know about this case. Trent told himself it was because he didn't feel like explaining to her why he had promised Margo's parents that there would be no charge, but the truth was that this case was personal to Trent. He hadn't even told Carlos, his best friend and business partner! It was tricky, finding the time to do this without drawing the attention of his closest friends.

As if on cue, his cell rang, and he answered it immediately. "Malloy."

"Trent, where _are_ you?" Kim Sutter's nasal voice asked. Everything was a matter of life and death for her. That trait would make her a good PI, if she ever found time to get licensed.

"I had to pick something up for the dojo," he lied.

"You haven't forgotten about Senator Thompson, have you?"

Trent had forgotten about the senator, actually. "Can't Carlos take this meeting?"

"He started on the Launey case today," she reminded him, a little impatiently. "Trent, what is going on with you?" Yep, with more experience, she'd make a great detective.

"I just forgot, that's all. I'll be there."

"Ok. Great. Oh, and Trent?"

"Yes?"

"Be sure to take a shower. We won't impress the senator if you smell like Thunder Karate."

* * *

Carlos Sandoval scanned the police scene from behind opaque sunglasses. If asked, he would say that he was content with his decision to quit the police force and join his best friend's private investigation business. As he watched uniformed comps keep back the crowd and the media while the more experienced detectives went through the investigatory procedure, he felt a little pang of regret.

Carlos had been damn good at what he did.

There. His eyes focused on the woman who had caught his attention. She resembled the driver's license photo Kim had pulled from the DMV records, but in real life, she seemed both older and younger than the 2-D image. She had cut her hair and changed her make-up, but he suspected there was nothing she could do to lose that smile.

Carlos opened the car door and stepped down from his Dodge Durango. He knew one of the cops keeping the perimeter and made his way through the throng of spectators to him.

"Danny!"

Danny took Carlos' outstretched hand vigorously. "Carlos! It's been forever, man!"

"No doubt. When I left they still had you on the short leash!"

"Yeah, well this isn't a much longer leash, but I get my own car."

Carlos laughed at that. "What happened here?"

Danny lowered his voice and leaned closer. "Single gunshot wound. No-one saw or heard anything. A homeless guy called 911 probably 2-3 hours after the fact to make sure taking the victim's coat wasn't a crime." Carlos looked over to where a grimy middle-aged man, far too thin to survive the coming winter, was giving his statement to an officer. Someone had given him a blanket and some food.

"Forensics?"

"Sniper bullet and some blood. She gave a general time of death, but won't know anything more until tests come back." Carlos cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"You might as well say it, Danny. What's wrong?"

"I don't know. There's just something really weird about this one, Carlos. Weirder than normal, anyway. Someone cleaned up the crime scene. Danae things it was an accidental death."

"Accidental death with a sniper bullet."

"Exactly."

"You're on a first name basis with the CSI?" Carlos asked, then. He _was_ on a mission, after all.

Danny laughed and was about to answer, when Dallas Police Detective Henry Ryan interrupted.

"Sandoval, what are you doing here?" Ryan's voice dripped with annoyance.

"I'm on a mission," Carlos exclaimed dramatically.

"Mission somewhere else!"

"Well I would, but as I was trying to explain to officer DeNardo here, my mission involves her." He pointed at the back of the female forensics investigator, who was currently squatting on the sidewalk, examining something.

"Lord," Ryan said, turning back to Carlos. "You can have her." He turned to look back over his shoulder at her. "Launey! Visitor!"

"In a minute!" she yelled back. She pulled out a swab and began dabbing at a stain on the concrete.

"Be a good girl and hurry the hell up!" Ryan yelled as he approached her. Carlos could see her give instructions to a photographer before she sauntered off to see Carlos. If Ryan couldn't stand her, Carlos decided he liked her already.

"Danae Launey?" Carlos stuck a hand out to her. She pulled her latex glove off, peeling it so it inverted, keeping any biohazardous contaminant from spreading. She wiped the powder off her palm on her back pocket and took his hand. She was beautiful in her suspicion, with her burning eyes and tense mouth. She was no knockout, but Carlos admired her survival instinct. And, of course, her ability to annoy Ryan. "I'm Carlos Sandoval. I'm a private investigator."

"Working on a case, Mr. Sandoval? You know I can't tell you anything about my work." Her voice was deep and thin.

"I'm working a case, yes. You're a hard woman to track down."

Danae paled visibly, then flushed. "Why would you go to the trouble?" she asked.

"A friend of yours thinks your fiancé--"

"Ex." Her blue eyes simmered.

"_Ex_-fiancé might be a danger to your well-being."

Danae barked out a laugh. "Is that so?" She met Carlos' eyes. "So Nic asked you to keep watch over me and make sure Roger doesn't try anything stupid?"

"Yep." Carlos smiled broadly, which seemed to piss her off more.

"Great," she muttered.

* * *

"Carlos, I'm worried," Kim told him on his cell.

"What's wrong?"

"Trent's twenty minutes late for that meeting with Senator Thompson."

"That's not like him," Carlos checked his watch. "I can't be there until 1:30 with this traffic."

"Not soon enough! This is big! Enormous!"

"Kim...you have to take this."

"You serious? I mean, I'm totally up for it, but I thought you guys weren't going to give me another chance after what I did last time with the Hogges...and the time before that with the Jacksons..."

"Kim," Carlos interrupted before she could talk him out of his decision. "Start the case. That's it. Look on the computer. Work your magic. But that's _it_. Ok?"

"Okay!" Kim hung up the phone and adjusted her hair. It was a little over-styled for this, but it would have to do. She dabbed at her lips to even her color and went out to the receptionist area.

"Senator Thompson, I'm afraid there's been an emergency with our agents. If you're comfortable with it, you can talk to me, and I'll pass it on to Trent and Carlos when they get back. I understand your time is very valuable..."

"It's fine," Senator Thompson said. I'm really more interested in Thunder Investigations because it's new, and that offers a degree of..."

"Discretion?" Kim offered.

"Anonymity," he said, mouth drawn into a half-smile.

"Semantics."

"I believe..." Senator Thompson trailed off, sitting up straighter and tightening the knot of his tie. Trent and Carlos had taught Kim to watch body language and identify when people changed personalities. Senator Thompson was slipping into "politician mode," trying to keep a cool head and speak as sensitively as possible. "My wife has had a dramatic shift in personality lately."

It was a non-judgmental comment that insinuated nothing and was open to interpretation. "Senator Thompson, I'm going to be blunt with you. Anonymity aside, Thunder Investigations is known for its integrity and its discretion. In order for us to help you, you're going to have to trust us and lay everything down." Thompson's eyes locked with hers for a minute as he considered.

"It's not the affair that worries me," he said finally, dropping his politician guise. "There's something bigger at play, something to do with her new friends. That's all I can tell you really."

"Why?" Kim asked, jotting down notes. "Why doesn't a possible affair disturb you, but non-romantic friendship does?"

"No-one ever believes a politician has no knowledge of scandals in the marriage. I'm saving myself, here, if her friends do turn out to be trouble. And besides, I still love her for some reason. I want to protect her, too. Even from herself."

* * *

"Carlos."

Kim sounded beyond upset. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard her so miserable. "Kim, what's wrong?"

"It's Trent. He's in the hospital."

Carlos felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. "Which one? I'll be right there."

"What about your case?"

Carlos sighed. "She'll be fine so long as she stays at work with people. This is more important."

"St. Matthew's ER. Carlos?"

"Yeah?" He was moving through corridors at the forensics building, trying to find Danae so he could get to the hospital as fast as possible.

"Drive carefully. Please."

Carlos flipped his phone shut as he rounded a corner and ran straight into his subject. Danae dropped the files she was carrying in a flurry of papers. "Jesus! What's the hurry?" she asked as she started picking up sheets one by one.

Carlos knelt and began piling the mess together, but Danae caught his wrist in a vice grip. "Let me," she said wearily. "There's a system."

"I'm sorry," he said as he rocked back on his heels. "I have to go."

Danae's very blue eyes snapped up to his, and she stopped sorting. "What about Roger?" Was she finally acknowledging that her ex was dangerous? So far, she maintained that he was rotten, but harmless. Carlos pushed the thought away for later conversation. "From what I can see, he's not stupid or capable enough to try anything so long as you're here with other people," he said. Danae cocked an eyebrow, causing Carlos to raise his own instinctively. "If he were to make his move, it wouldn't be on your turf, where you have power. It would be somewhere he had set up."

"Fair enough," she said. "I can't go anywhere until you get back?"

"I hope I won't be long. I am really sorry about this. It's an emergency. You have my number?"


	2. Chapter 2

Trent had a hard time remembering the last time he felt this bad. Well, he was having a hard time remembering much of anything. His head and neck were aching fiercely, and when he looked in the mirror he could see the dark red marks under the skin on his neck: thumb marks just below his Adam's apple, fingers splaying around the sides. His mother would kill him when she saw these.

"Mr. Malloy?" He turned his gaze from the glass in front of him to the woman standing in the doorway. "How are you feeling now? You shouldn't be up just yet." Her heels clicked on the tiles as she moved into the room. Trent self-consciously tucked the back of his hospital gown closed and shuffled back to the bed.

"What happened to me?" he asked. His voice emerged as a bare whisper. He understood suddenly how fire breathing dragons must feel. That is, if they were real. His pain certainly was, though.

"All we know definitively is that you were..." she trailed off, obviously not sure how to word it.

"Throttled?" she jumped at hearing Carlos' voice behind her.

Trent smiled at his friend, unable to laugh because of the fire in his throat.

"Sir, you can't be in here," she replied hotly.

"It's ok. I'm family. Trent, tell her I'm your brother."

The woman turned toward the blond man, who nodded stiffly, smile growing bigger as he noticed Carlos blatantly checking her out. He obviously liked what he saw: petite frame, amber skin, and long flowing tresses. Trent nodded again.

She turned back around to face Carlos. "Dr. Chase."

Carlos shook her hand and introduced himself. "Carlos Sandoval."

"Sandoval? I thought you were brothers?" she asked haughtily, confident she had caught him in the lie.

"Different fathers," Carlos winked. "Obviously." He went to stand next to his friend. "How are you feeling?"

Trent shrugged and grinned sheepishly, touching his head.

"He was found breathing, but passed out, by the medics," Dr. Chase said. "It looks as if he was choked, but..."

"But?" Carlos prodded.

"But he was left breathing. He was meant to survive this attack."

"You're a detective now?" Carlos teased her. "Funny, so are we."

Dr. Chase blushed and her stunningly beautiful face grew stony. "Whoever did this to him had him cleanly. There's no sign that Trent even fought back. He could just as easily be dead right now as alive."

Trent made a face. "Why can't I remember?" he forced out.

"That's common in a trauma. Especially in a trauma where blood flow is disrupted to the brain," she rattled off possibilities, "and given your obvious high fitness level I'd say you didn't even see it coming." Trent grimaced. "I'll get you a board to write on," the doctor continued. "Your neck will be sore for a couple of days." She left the room as quickly as possible.

Carlos whistled when the door closed behind her, and Trent laughed in spite of the pain.

* * *

"Mary thinks you're cute," Danae broke the silence suddenly. She needed to return to the morning's crime scene, as her lab had come to a dead end with the evidence she had collected earlier. Carlos wasn't about to let her go alone.

"Mary?" he asked.

"The intern."

Carlos made a face. "That's a little young, even for me."

"Well there's Phil, too," she offered pleasantly. Carlos laughed, and out of the corner o of his eye he could see her relax slightly. "He's not really my type either." Ever since she'd been introduced to him, Danae had been on guard. Carlos would be willing to bet she was always on her guard. It made him wonder just how dangerous Roger was.

"Your emergency went ok I take it?" she ventured.

Carlos glanced at her. "Yeah, everything's fine."

She nodded, and Carlos pulled up to the taped-off scene. "Is this a bad part of town?" she asked as she hopped down from the Durango.

"Relative to what?" Carlos asked. Her look suggested that she really didn't know how to answer. "It's not gang turf, so it's not known for violence or drugs. But it's a poorer neighborhood. We used to get calls of domestic violence, drunk driving, theft."

"Used to?"

"When I was on the force," he explained.

"The victim's watch and wallet were left on his person. That's kinda weird, yeah?" She set up a tripod near the body outline and adjusted its height.

"What are we doing?" Carlos asked as she gave him one end of a piece of twine.

"From a footprint we found near the body, we can guess the height of the shooter. However, given the angle of the bullet...it doesn't add up." She positioned Carlos, who simulated the shooter and ran the twine from him, through the loop on the tripod and finally taped it to the wall, where the bullet had been found earlier. Danae came around behind him and began adjusting the twine, trying to find a reasonable trajectory. "The bullet passed straight through the body," she muttered.

Carlos instinctively ducked and turned toward the sound of a discharging gun. His own firearm was drawn before he was completely crouched next to Danae. He scanned the building tops, searching for the shooter, but saw no-one.

"Carlos." Danae put a hand on his forearm. He looked down at her and swallowed back a rush of bile. He never could get used to blood, and there was a lot of it.

"It's going to be ok," he told her, fumbling for his phone.

"Carlos, look," she said. She moved her hand, which still held the twine. It was now taught and in a straight line. "My shooter was right here!" She wore a triumphant look on her face that struck Carlos as entirely inappropriate and surreal, given the situation. She closed her eyes, then, and put a shaky hand up to her wound. "Damn, this hurts, ya know?"

Carlos snorted. "Yeah, I know. Hang in there." He gave the 911 dispatcher their location and helped Danae apply pressure to the bullet hole. It had passed through the large muscle between her neck and shoulder. Nothing vital had been hit, luckily.

"What a day," she murmured.

* * *

Carlos slipped out of Danae's hospital room once the officer had arrived to take her statement. He hated hospitals. For that matter, he really hated _this_ hospital, which he had visited twice today alone.

He found Trent asleep in his room, and was about to leave when his friend spoke.

"That you, mano?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

Trent sat up wearily and looked at the clock. "What are you doing here?"

"Danae got shot. Sniper."

"Well you seem only mildly frustrated, so I assume it was a bad sniper?"

Carlos laughed slightly. "Who sends an incompetent sniper to whack your ex-girlfriend?"

Trent smiled. "Amateur." There was a pause; the situation wasn't actually funny, and the two men were exhausted. Joking was just the only way to deal sometimes. "Unless..."

Carlos looked at his friend and cocked an eyebrow as if to ask _unless what?_

"Unless they weren't aiming for her."

"Jealous ex tries to whack the new guy? Possible but not likely."

"Old enemies with an axe to grind try to whack an ex-cop? Possible _and_ likely. Just keep an eye out." Trent settled back down and closed his eyes.

"I know what you mean." Carlos sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Something doesn't feel right about this one."

"Pump the girl for info," Trent yawned. "If she's on even half the medicines I am, it'll be easy."

"Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

Leaving Trent's room, Carlos literally bumped into Dr. Chase. "Don't they ever let you go home, doc?" he asked her, using their collision to stand close to her and put a hand on her forearm.

She smiled wearily at him. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"Well let me know. I'll take you out."

"Oh, well in that case, I think I have Thursday night free."

Carlos adored the way her cheeks flushed and decided to goad her by kissing her hand. "I'll see you then, doc."


	3. Chapter 3

Carlos could not believe morning had come so soon. His dreams had been short and nasty, despite his inability to sleep for longer than an hour. He felt raw and exposed from his lack of sleep, and he slapped his alarm clock angrily.

He somehow managed to scrape off his whiskers without cutting himself, and by the time he stepped out of his shower, he was feeling a little more awake. The smell of coffee met his nostrils.

He found Danae in his kitchen, awkwardly using her left hand to pour a steaming mug of liquid caffeine for him. He accepted it with a grunt that passed for a thank you and leaned against the counter next to her.

"How did you..."

"I heard your alarm. And I'm paid to find microscopic evidence. Coffee was pretty easy."

"You didn't have to."

"I wanted to. Besides, I need a favor."

Carlos laughed, then, and Danae smiled in return. "Ok what favor?"

"Call me in sick?" she said, giving him his portable phone. "No-one's going to believe me when I say I'm recovering from a gunshot wound. Pretend you're someone important. Drop names."

Her blue eyes danced as she held out the phone, and Carlos didn't doubt that her boss wouldn't believe her getting shot. Danae had a short fuse and a quick wit, and he doubted she could be serious if she tried, even about her own brush with death.

Carlos took the phone. "How about I drop Ryan's name? I think he has a crush on you..."

Danae stuck her tongue out at him and headed back to his couch, where she had spent the night. Carlos made the call, and as soon as he hung up, it rang.

"Carlos." It was Kim. "We need to get cracking on this Thompson case. I have a lead, but you said no field work by myself, so I'm coming to pick you up."

"I guess that's fine."

Kim was as good as her word, arriving some minutes later. Carlos opened his door, a finger on his lips to shush her.

"Are you bugged?" she mouthed.

"Danae's sleeping," he whispered, gesturing behind him.

"She stayed here?" Kim was shocked. She knew Carlos was a philanderer but this was a new low even for him! "On the couch?" She was confused. She stood on tip toe to catch a glimpse.

"Would you rather it had been my bed?" he hissed. "Besides, she wanted the couch. Something about propping her arm up."

"Is she ok to stay here alone?" Kim asked.

"I'll be fine for about four and a half hours," Danae said. She hadn't opened her eyes to respond.

"Four and a half hours?" Kim asked.

"That's when the pain meds wear off. I won't call anyone, I won't email anyone, I won't go by the windows, I promise."

Carlos closed his mouth. He'd just been about to say something like that. Instead he grabbed his jacket and ushered Kim out the door.

"You like her, don't you?" Kim accused out in the hallway.

"What?"

"Look at your little smirk! You do!"

"No, Kim. She's a client."

"That's _right_ she's a client!" Kim repeated emphatically, poking him with an index finger to drive home the point.

Carlos arched an eyebrow and a bigger, more mischievous smile crossed his face. "Besides, I'm going on a date with Trent's doctor this week."

Kim laughed. Carlos would never change, no matter how hard she tried. "You're so disgusting."

* * *

"I...am so underdressed," Kim sighed when they arrived at their destination. She stood dumbly alongside Carlos in front of an upscale hotel. "I feel like my underwear should be made of diamonds!"

"What you lack in style, you make up with personality!" Carlos said, straightening his broad shoulders. "At least, that's what Mama Sandoval always says." He took Kim's arm and looped it through his own, and they entered.

"Can I help you?" the clerk asked them haughtily as they approached.

Carlos was against stereotyping in all its forms because stereotypes were the basis for ignorance. But even so, he couldn't help but marvel at how clichéd this man behind the desk was. Average height and genetically thin (Carlos would bet everything he owned the man had never lifted weights or run in his life and ate nothing but cheese and wine every day) with thinning, well kept hair, a proud nose, and a permanent sneer.

"I'm new in town," Kim drawled, opting for a New England accent.

Carlos looked at the clerk's nametag. Lord, he was even named Jacques! Could he be more French?

"Perhaps Madame would be more comfortable in a hotel with a better view of the tourist attractions downtown?"

"You don't know who she is?" Carlos stepped forward.

"I'm afraid not, Monsieur," the clerk turned his measuring gaze toward Carlos.

"I can't believe this!" Carlos threw his arms up in the air. Setting his jaw and getting himself under control, he continued. "This is Senator Thompson's cousin," he said in a low conspiratorial tone. "A favorite of Mrs. Thompson."

"My apologies, Monsieur, Madame!" There was a flurry of typing. "I can get a room for you in a half an hour. In the mean time, perhaps Madame would like to retire to our lounge?"

"Madame would," Kim said firmly.

Jacques led them down a corridor and unlocked the door to the guest lounge with a swipe of his card. "There is a social group meeting just now, but they should be no problem," he told them as he pulled out a chair for Kim.

Kim waited for Jacques to leave before dropping her guise of frustration. "We are so amazing!" she gushed quietly. "The way we just waltzed in here!"

"We only have twenty minutes," Carlos warned her.

"He said thirty," Kim said.

"We need to be gone by the time he comes back. Is that our group?"

"Yeah. Apparently Mrs. Thompson takes breakfast with them every week. Dallas' very own rich and famous."

"Same ploy, then," he told her. "You introduce yourself as new money. I'm going to get pictures of everyone."

"How? We didn't bring a camera. Besides, isn't that a little obvious?"

Carlos grinned. "Camera phone." He held up his cell.

* * *

Trent couldn't wait any longer. The hospital had discharged him and made several follow up appointments. Rather than wait for Carlos and Kim to finish their surveillance, which they had all agreed was more important since they had a very limited time frame, Trent decided to catch a cab home. His mother was at work and his three younger siblings at school, so the house was empty when he got there. He went through it room by room, looking for anything out of place.

While there was a lot out of place in Tyler and Tandy's rooms, nothing seemed suspicious. Trent had been sharing a room in his mother's house with his brother under the presumption that if he was around nothing bad would happen again, or if it did, at least he'd be around to deal with it, unlike last time. His father's death had been a wake-up call. But now...what if he had brought this thing to his home? What if whoever did this to him had followed him back to the very place he was trying to protect? Maybe his mother was right and it was time to find his own place.

All of this, the empty house, the guilt, was frustratingly familiar, like when he tried to remember what had happened the day he was attacked. But there was nothing but fog there...

He shook his head and sat down in the carpeted hallway upstairs. So much memory in this house...

Memory seized, hard, pouring out of him.

_Thunder was dead. Trent had just come home. Katie had taken his siblings to see family in Ft. Worth for the weekend. Everyone needed a break from the tragedy. The house was empty and confusing: why weren't you there for your father's last days, Trent? Pride? A petty argument?_

_A knock at the door had brought Trent out of his numbness. As soon as he had opened the door, he had been pulled into a fierce hug._

_"Trent I'm so sorry," she had said through her sobs. "I came as soon as I could get away from work." She had pulled away, then, to take a look at her old friend. "How are you holding up, kid?"_

_Despite being the youngest in their group of friends while growing up, she had always called everyone "kid." Trent had smiled at that, was going to tell her that everyone was dealing, but as soon as he had opened his mouth, the tears came._

_She had held him and cried, too. Thunder had been like a second father to her._

_What had happened next, and how it had happened, Trent couldn't remember exactly, but he remembered how good she felt, how calm she made him feel. She was gone in the morning when he woke up; the only trace she left was a note on her pillow and a million questions in his mind. They hadn't been "just friends" for a long time. But what were they now?_

Trent shook his head and wondered why he thought of Margo at a time like this. Why couldn't he remember anything relevant to his attacker?

* * *

"You!" Butch McMann pointed one giant, sausage-sized finger at Carlos as the younger man entered the bar under Thunder Investigations. "I've got a bone to pick with you!" Kim, Danae, and Trent moved away from Carlos, sensing they didn't want to be near the bone-picking when it happened.

"What'd he do now?" Kim asked, sitting at the bar. "Also, Thunder Investigations assumes no monetary responsibility, whatever it is."

"My baby girl, my BABY GIRL! He talked her into becoming a cop, for God's sake!"

"I didn't...I didn't talk her _into_ it, Butch, I swear! She asked me if I thought she could make it as a cop, and I told her the truth! Besides, I figured you'd be proud of her. She passed basic training requirements."

Butch's eyes seemed ready to pop from his face. "She _what_?"

"Can I get a beer before you explode all over the bar?" Trent asked.

"I told her everything, Butch," Carlos said, daring to sit at the bar as the bigger man turned his back to them to get Trent a mug. "You know I wouldn't steer her wrong."

"Besides," Trent said as he accepted the glass from Butch, "You are proud of her."

"Yeah, only if she doesn't get herself killed," Butch conceded with a sigh. "I'll be damned if I see her shot up by an idiot on the street!"

"Being a cop runs in the family, Butch," Kim said brightly. "Besides, this might be good for her sense of control. After everything that's happened in the last year with her fiancé and her mother, it's good that she's getting back on her feet."

"You always did see the silver lining," Butch said with a slight smile. He turned his focus to Danae; her new face at not escaped him. "What can I get you, darling?"

"Oh, no I'm not drinking, thanks," she blushed.

"Cola?"

"Water," she said as though making a compromise.

"Danae, this is Butch McMann," Carlos said, taking his own beer. "If Butch can't set you up, you're hopeless."

Butch chuckled and slid Danae's water to her. "New in town?" She nodded. "And shot up already? Most people can go years before they get that pleasure." That got a laugh from her. "And you," Butch turned toward Trent. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Trent smiled into his mug. "Sort of. I can't remember anything about yesterday. If my car hadn't been found, I don't think I could even tell you where I was when it happened!"

"Well that happens when you have amnesia," Butch said wryly, leaning his heavy frame on the bar.

"Yeah, but...This is going to sound really crazy, but when I was going through the house today, and all I could think about was Margo Jones."

"Who?" Kim asked.

"She was a good friend of ours back in the day," Carlos answered. "Joined the FBI a few years back, right?" Trent nodded. "Wonder what she's doing now," he mused.

"I haven't heard form her since her going away party," Trent frowned. It seemed like he _had_ heard from her recently, though! Surely he would have remembered talking to her, since there was so much he needed to say…

"The brain is an amazing organ," Danae said quietly. "Some people think we don't forget anything we experience, that our entire lives are hidden somewhere in our brains but we store unimportant things, or things we don't understand, so deeply we can't access them consciously."

"Other people—scientists—believe that memory is a construct formed by repetition of how things unrolled," a female voice came from behind the group.

"Dr. Chase!" Carlos smiled broadly. "Trent you already know. This is Kim, Butch, and Danae."

"Vivian," she introduced herself. "I'm sorry, you were saying?" she sat down between Carlos and Danae, very obviously trying to separate them. Trent watched the whole thing unravel with mild curiosity. He would have questioned further why it seemed like Dr. Vivian Chase disliked Danae Launey on a very personal level even though they had just met, but he had other things on his mind. Or rather, _not_ on his mind…

Danae regarded Vivian coolly for the briefest of seconds, then turned her attention back to Trent. "It's just that the mind has a way of telling you things if you just listen to it, Trent."


	4. Chapter 4

Even Carlos noticed that Danae and Vivian did not get along, and he was usually oblivious to everything when he was trying to court a woman. He shared Trent's theory that the two women had met before, though he couldn't begin to speculate how. In any case, Carlos decided to move Vivian and himself to a more private table, leaving Trent, Kim, and Danae to amuse themselves at a booth. Trent only half-listened as Kim and Danae chatted and laughed easily.

"I can't imagine what you must be going through," Kim said at one point.

Danae looked down at her hands. "It's funny what love does to a person," she said finally. "It's a powerful tool for denial." Kim nodded as if she knew exactly what Danae was saying, which piqued Trent's interest. He was about to pursue the subject when Carlos came back.

"Ditched already?" Trent asked with a straight face.

"I'll have you know I'm taking her our again!" Carlos sniffed pridefully. "Scoot over," he sat next to Danae. "So what do you think of her?"

"Pretty," Kim said.

"Smart," Trent added.

Carlos looked at Danae expectantly. "Uh…" she looked to Kim and Trent for help. "Opinionated?" was the most diplomatic she could manage.

Carlos was about to inform Danae about how wrong she was (and sneakily probe to see if she and Vivian knew each other somehow) when he noticed a funny look on Trent's face. "Carlos?" Carlos looked up, spotting the glittering red dot of a laser scope inching its way down the wall toward them. Carlos calmly put his arm behind Danae's shoulders, which startled her visibly.

"Be cool," he said. He gave a wink to Trent, who fluidly upturned the table, and Carlos shoved Danae behind it, crouching beside her. He felt the zing of a bullet slide by him accompanied by the sound of breaking glass.

"What the devil are you doing?" Butch yelled from the bar. Trent peeked out from behind the table to shout at Butch to get down. Two more shots came in through the window and imbedded in the walls just above the upset table.

By this time, patrons were beginning to panic. Butch's voice roared over the din, asking for calm and silence. They may not have felt calm, but they did quiet down. Within minutes, the wail of police sirens filled the night, and Butch was busy trying to talk to his customers.

Shoving Danae down suddenly had reopened her wound, and soon her bandage was soaked with blood. The stitches still held, though, and she managed to convince the paramedics to re-bandage the shoulder without taking her to the hospital again.

Except for three bullet holes and two broken windows, Uppercuts was undamaged. Butch's customers were a loyal bunch, and even if they weren't, everyone in Dallas owed him a favor. His bar wouldn't suffer too much.

* * *

"You hate hospitals, too?" Carlos asked Danae as he drove them back to his apartment.

"I just don't want to put up with your pretty girlfriend," she replied tiredly.

"She's not that bad once you get to know her," he said. "She's just a doctor." Danae cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.

"I used to be a doctor, you know," she said after a while.

"What happened?"

"Roger." They fell silent again. Carlos could stand to be patient while she decided how much she wanted to tell. "Have you ever been married, Carlos?" she asked finally.

"Almost, once. It was years ago."

"What happened?" she prodded.

"I was a senior in high school, and I was so in love with her. Mama hated her, of course, didn't think she was good for me, but I would have died for Cristina. I had our lives all planned out: after I graduated, I'd get some work to support us, either driving or as a mechanic or something, and we'd get married…"

"In high school?"

Carlos' laugh was sad and fond at the same time. "At the time it didn't seem so young. But then I found out she was having another guy's child and _they_ were getting married as soon as graduation ceremony was over. Seriously, that afternoon!"

"Ouch. When did you find all this out?"

"Finals," he laughed again.

"And you became a detective instead of a mechanic," she said with finality.

"A cop. The PI thing is a recent lifestyle change."

"Either way, you completely switched job choices after she left you. It happens."

"Ah." Carlos thought for a minute. "You know, you could have just said that you were trying to disappear from the life you had with him and become someone else."

"I'm not trying to become someone else," she returned hotly.

Carlos shrugged. "You've changed your appearance since leaving Indiana. You're definitely running from it, whether you see it or not."

Danae pouted for the rest of the ride.

* * *

Kim was hanging up photos she had printed off from Carlos' phone on the case board. The pictures weren't the best quality, but they suited her purposes. Underneath and beside the shots, she had written the person's name and any interesting information she could dig up on the Internet and assorted illegal cracks into private databases. Some of it was quite juicy. Rich people could afford some truly raunchy secrets.

Trent came into the office, then, looking tired. Kim handed a mug of coffee and leaned against the desk next to him. She waited for him to talk.

"You know, Kim, I'm impressed," he said finally.

"Thanks Trent," she smiled shyly.

"Wait, who's that?" Trent pointed to a man in the background of a group picture. He tapped the board impatiently while Kim flipped through some notes she'd taken.

"Umm…" A few seconds ago Trent was asleep on his feet, and now he was wide awake. What was so important about this guy in the picture? "Ira Temp. He's the Thompson's body guard."

"Why isn't his name up here?"

"I didn't think he was important," Kim said.

"I need to know everything about him before lunch," Trent circled Ira's face with a permanent marker.

"Why?"

Trent shook his head. "I don't know."

* * *

"Trivette, it's Kim. I need a favor." Kim had to resort to pleading over hacking for information on Ira Temp, although she liked to think that she was responsible for the new encryption protecting the Texas Ranger's database. Given enough time, she could probably get through it, but this was faster. And Trent had said "before lunch."

"Uh-oh."

"I'll make it worth your time," she replied.

"You really think my morals can be bought?" He sounded offended.

"You know that dance company your lady wanted to see?" she asked. "I've got tickets."

Trivette groaned.

"What's funny is that they came with courtside tickets to this weekend's basketball game."

"What do you want?" he asked. From the tone of his voice, it sounded like she could have asked for his firstborn child and he would have considered the trade.

"Any and all information you have on a man named Ira Temp."

"Are you serious?" Trivette laughed. Kim assured him that she was. "Then I think you should know that the FBI came by here today asking about him, too."

"That makes me nervous."

"Yeah, especially since there may be a connection between him and the radical terrorist group that's been acting up in the Dallas area recently."

"Any chance I can get info on that, too?"

"I'll do what I can. Kim, a lot of this is classified," Trivette said.

"Anything you can get is fine, Jimmy. Thanks a bunch." Kim hung up and frowned. This was getting too complicated.

* * *

Trent shook his head as Kim gave him a brief synopsis of everything Ranger Trivette had sent over. "This is heavy. Get Senator Thompson over here; we need to find out how much of this he knows."

"Trent there's one more thing that Trivette put in at the last minute," Kim said. "The Feds are all over Ira. Specifically, they sent in an…" she looked at Trivette's notes, "Agent Jonas. Trivette said you knew him and would not want to risk blowing his cover."

"Agent Jonas? I don't know an Agent Jonas do I?" Something buzzed at the back of his head again. What had Danae said? The mind would talk to him if he just listened… "Show me the note." Kim held up the back of the dossier she had compiled, where there was a short note in Trivette's brief hand. "Jones, not Jonas," he said, closing his eyes. "It's Margo."

"Trent, I gotta ask you something difficult. I need you to tell me if there is anything going on between you and Margo."

"Maybe? I wish I could answer you better than that," he said.

"Think this is coincidence?"

Trent sighed. "Not a chance."


	5. Chapter 5

"So how long am I to remain your prisoner?" Danae picked at her lunch as Carlos wolfed his down.

"If he doesn't make another attempt soon, then we'll re-evaluate your case. Maybe we'll try to draw him out, end it quickly. It all depends on what he does."

Danae snorted. "As long as Nic is paying, I really don't care how long it takes!"

"Eventually, you'll have to tell me why you hate him so much," Carlos said with a laugh.

"I have my reasons," she said cryptically, her face closing.

"As long as you have your reasons, I don't mind getting rich off him. I bet he deserves your hate."

This got a smile from her. "You have a lot of faith in me." Carlos didn't reply and Danae thought about his silence. "You should take her dancing. The doctor."

Carlos made a face. "I don't know how to dance. I mean _really_ dance."

Danae shrugged. "You were a boxer, right?" When he nodded, she went on, "I can teach you a few basic steps. Just think of it as boxing where you keep your opponent close enough to hit, but far enough to keep off of your toes."

"How romantic," he muttered.

"Do you have faith in me or not?" she asked hotly.

* * *

"Margo again?" Carlos asked Trent. His friend nodded grimly.

"I called her parents. They were really excited to hear from me. Apparently I promised to find her."

"When?"

"Probably two weeks ago at the most."

"Did you document anything?"

"Please. Kim would have wanted to know why I told her parents there would be no charge!"

"Did you tell her?"

Trent looked away. "Not really. I just said that we might have been slightly involved once." Carlos couldn't help laughing at this. "What?" Trent reddened.

"I was there at her going away party, mano, remember? The rest of us amused ourselves while you and Margo danced all night long with stars in your eyes! Ever wonder why I never dated her? It's because you two obviously had feelings for each other."

Trent reddened further. "Did everyone know?"

"'Cept you guys."

A long silence stretched between them. "I'm too close to this one, aren't I?"

"Yeah. But that's not the issue. The issue is your objectivity. Can you do the job? _Should_ you do the job now that we know what she's up to?"

"Objectivity." Trent rolled the word around in his head. Did he still have that? Definitely. Above all else, he wanted Margo safe. And if that meant dropping her trail, then that's what he would do.

Carlos grinned as Trent said that word again. "I know: five syllables, and it came out of _my_ mouth!"

Trent laughed at this, and the door to Thunder Investigations slammed open.

"Sandoval, I've got a bone to pick with you," Ryan said. His face was mottled red, and Carlos briefly wondered how much pushing it would take for Ryan to actually burst something vital in his brain.

"Sure, why don't you step into my office?" Carlos kept his attitude in check—he didn't fancy another trip to the hospital—and ushered his former rival into his office. "What can I do for you?" he asked once they were seated.

"I ought to arrest you for obstruction of justice!" He was still using his outside voice. His index finger came out, now, accusatory and invading Carlos' personal bubble. "You do NOT work for the Dallas Police Department, got it? If I ever hear that you are directing an investigation again, I will book you. Do you understand me?"

"Is this about the Launey case?"

"What else?"

"I'm sharing information, Ryan. You're looking for a man named Roger Adams from Indianapolis, Indiana. He's about-"

"That's what I mean, Sandoval! I can't believe you would dare to pull this on me! Roger Adams is dead. Has been for the last four days, which I think makes him decidedly NOT a suspect in the shooting. On a related note, the dead guy Danae was investigating is a member of the Locos. You know what I think? I think the Locos and the Ramirez gang got into it, and one of the Ramirez came back to admire his handiwork and saw you at the scene. I think they meant to shoot you, and I half-wish they had, so that I wouldn't have this headache. Stay. Out. Of. It." Ryan stood up to leave and paused at the door. "I'm petitioning to have Launey put into police protection. If it is Ramirez, she's not safe with you."

"You can't blame me for Ramirez. I had no idea his boys were still on the streets. If you'll recall, I had them all arrested with enough evidence from three months of undercover work to put them all away for a long time. But believe me, there is someone after her. The Ramirez don't roll with sniper guns. And they wouldn't stop with just one Loco dead. I know the way they think. You can't protect her like I can."

"You might not have a choice, Sandoval," Ryan sneered.

"Just so you know. This is on your head now."

* * *

"No, I've never heard of the Reformists, but there is no way Ira is involved." Senator Thompson looked like he needed an antacid the entire time Trent had explained his concern with his bodyguard. Kim sat quietly, bright eyes taking in everything.

"Senator, can I ask you why you hired him? You must have known about his past," Trent's voice was gentle, reassuring.

"His résumé was impeccable. You simply cannot be an effective bodyguard without stepping on the law's toes. When my wife said she didn't feel safe in Dallas-"

"Why didn't she feel safe?" Kim asked.

"We were receiving threats, worse than usual, and some had ended in property damage, vandalism. So I asked around. Ira came highly recommended by Bee's friends. Where would he find time to run a terrorist group? He's got more than a full time job protecting us!"

"You must understand, we need to explore every lead in order to be thorough," Trent said.

The Senator calmly wiped his glasses and grimaced as he considered. "I appreciate it. Don't let a fool like me get in the way."

* * *

"Ok you're bringing bad news," Danae said, feeling her stomach rise to the level of her throat.

Not for the first time, Carlos wondered if Danae was so good at reading people because she herself was so easy to read. He could tell she already knew, or at least guessed, what he was about to say. "Let's sit down," he offered. When they were settled on her couch, he began. "I'm very sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Roger died four days ago." He watched her carefully, but she just kept staring at the black TV screen, wringing her hands and breathing shallowly. "I called around, and I think it might have been a murder. An investigation is pending."

Danae stood up at this and walked quickly toward the back of her apartment. Carlos waited a few minutes, and when she did not return, decided to find her. She was kneeling over the toilet, waiting to see if she would be sick again. "So what the hell was Nic talking about, if Roger was dead?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe he didn't know. It's possible that if Roger had made threats and Nic hadn't heard from him he assumed the worse."

"If I know, I find it hard to believe that Roger's best friend doesn't."

"You suspected his motives from the start."

"Yes. Nic hates me."

"I need to know why."

Danae looked at him finally. "You tell me everything you're keeping back about this case, and I'll tell you what I'm running from."

"Can we do this…not in your bathroom?"

Danae barked out a laugh, tears sliding down her cheek. She brushed them away as if she were embarrassed, and brought herself under control. She rinsed her mouth, grabbed a box of Kleenex, and headed back to the couch.

"Roger and Nic were inseparable when I first met them, and Nic always accused me of taking Roger away from him. When we first got together, I begged him to stop smoking, but he wouldn't. I thought that was his only fault. He was sweet and romantic, and I thought I had found the perfect man. But as it turned out, he was way into drugs. I decided I couldn't live like that and I broke it off."

"Were you scared that you knew too much? Is that why you ran away?"

"You make it sound like I'm an errant child," she said hotly. "I removed myself, yes. I couldn't stay in a place where everything reminded me not only of what I lost, but of everyone who deceived me. My friends knew Roger was using—that he was sleeping around—months before I found out, and they never said a word. You may think me miserable here, but I'm a thousand times happier than I was. Until Nic came back."

"What's the deal with him?"

"He was the one who got Roger into drugs in the first place," Danae said bitterly.

* * *

Trent chewed on his lower lip as he waited outside Mrs. Thompson's beauty salon. According to the Senator, she went roughly once a week for a variety of services: nails, face, and hair. Interesting that a woman whose passions included gardening and painting had her nails done once a week. Weirder things have happened, to be sure, but Trent suspected everything now, especially when it came to Mrs. Thompson. He remained quite sure there was a link between Ira, his client's wife, and Margo.

He had Kim hacking into the Thompson's bank account looking for discrepancies. Maybe Beatrice simply wanted to live dangerously by supporting Ira's radical cause. Certainly her marriage was on the rocks, and people needed a little bit of drama in their lives…

Oh, God, Margo! Trent prayed hard that she was safe. He prayed harder that the feeling of dread in his stomach was all in his imagination.

He brought his focus back to the present. How long did manicures take? He'd been here for about an hour already.

His cell phone rang. "Malloy."

"Trent I've got some interesting stuff here." Kim's voice.

"Question: How long do manicures take?"

"Well, top end, with an appointment, running on time, 40 minutes, why?"

"Interesting."

"Oh boy, Trent. We need to schedule you a vacation. Maybe _after_ Senator Thompson pays us. Which brings me back to my reason for calling. There's nothing out of place in the Thompson's joint account. So I decided to see if Beatrice had her own, which she does not, but while I was snooping around, I found an interesting flag in her file."

"What file?"

"El Paso PD file. Beatrice Pitman was arrested in college in connection with a radical political group."

"You can't be arrested for politics, Kim. What did she do?"

"She was booked for assault and instigating a riot, but it never went to trial. Looks like it was handled by the university."

"Great work, Kim. I want you to find out what Mrs. Thompson's political views really are, and how those compare with the Reformists. And then I want you to find out how she and the Senator met. I think we're onto something with this."

* * *

"Carlos." Danae barged into the office he shared with Trent without knocking. "You were wrong."

"Ok?" After their heart-to-heart, Carlos had brought Danae back to Thunder Investigations. Trent was obsessed with the Thompson case, so the only way of getting to the bottom of Danae's was to do it himself. And for that he would need the resources at Thunder Investigations.

"My victim wasn't the only Loco to die this week. In all, _fifteen_ known members of that gang have turned up in morgue freezers. That makes your theory about Ramirez silly!"

"It was Ryan's theory," Carlos said, frowning.

"Well then I'm surprised you listened at all!"

"Sadly, this doesn't disprove his theory," Carlos said. "Wait, how did you find all this out?"

"I called around and asked about Locos. Turns out I'm the only ME who didn't know about the tattoo." She saw Carlos' big eyes and rushed on. "I used Kim's phone. She said it was scrambled and untraceable. And I didn't tell them where I was."

Carlos found himself laughing, though it wasn't funny. "Do you ever listen to directions?"

"Forget that! This is important!" Carlos just stared at her, face incredulous. "And no, I never listen when I can help it. What do you mean it doesn't disprove Ryan's theory?"

"What do you mean it does?"

"I don't think it's coincidence that every ME in Dallas is swamped. It seems to me that I was being drawn out. Besides, you said that place wasn't gang turf."

"It's not, and most gangs don't use sniper bullets, either. But I don't believe in coincidence, and we've still got a bunch of dead Locos, and two shooting attempts where we're both present." Danae looked frustrated. "What we need to do is get Nic off the streets. Right now, we've only got your word that he was selling drugs. With the right twist we might be able to have him arrested, but I doubt it."

"What if I could produce Roger's planner and journal?"

"Well that's an entirely different ballgame!"


	6. Chapter 6

"Thanks for coming by, Trent." Texas Ranger Cordell Walker greeted his former pupil warmly. "We're hoping you can help us figure out this new hit."

"Ranger Walker, I must protest!" a man in a tailored suit said gravely. "This man is a civilian and should not be granted access to the crime scene."

Walker looked like he was going to argue Trent's credentials with the man, but instead lead his protégé into the building. "The Reformists hit this bank today, but for the first time in the history of their existence-"

"And they've been around since the 1950s," Trivette added.

"They've left a clue," Walker finished.

Trent stared at the open bank vault and the scorch marks fanning out around the door. No less than a dozen officers were combing the area, swabbing and photographing incessantly. What caught and held Trent's attention, though, was a message painted on the wall.

"T Give UP M"

"You know already or else you wouldn't have called me down," Trent said.

Walker nodded. "Trivette is the one who made the connection."

"What we need from you is a recent sample of Margo's writing, if you've got one," Trivette said.

Trent shook his head, and the man in the suit rolled his eyes.

"There is no reason Mr. Malloy needed to see any of this just to provide us with a sample of Agent Jones' writing. We could have found that!"

"Agent Martin in Margo's superior," Trivette said.

"Ranger Trivette, I must protest this gross disregard for the confidentiality of this case!" Agent Martin interjected.

"He hasn't heard from Margo in a long time now, and right now we're just hoping to prove that she's still alive," Trivette finished defiantly.

"That's it, I want all of you off the case," Martin hissed.

"I dare you to try," Walker said quietly. The two men sized each other up, then Martin turned on his heel and left, yanking out his cell phone.

"Walker, I do have a note, but it's very personal," Trent said.

"Trent, if it were anyone else, I wouldn't say this. I don't know what's going on here, but I know you wouldn't endanger Margo. I'll allow you to test it on your own, but I want to be kept in the loop."

"Thank you Walker, Trivette. I owe you guys." He accepted a photograph of the wall form Trivette and left the scene, feeling like he was leaving the last traces of Margo behind him.

He lost both FBI tails in traffic on the way back to Thunder Investigations.

* * *

Trent dug through his old piles of useless things he could never bring himself to get rid of. A homemade Christmas card form Tyler and Tandy, a brief letter of congratulations from Walker when Trent had earned his black belt, a ticket stub from when he saw Star Wars…

The note Margo left in her place next to Trent that night she had spent with him almost a year ago.

_Trent:_

_I'm so sorry to run and leave you with all these questions, but I only had a 24-hr window to see you. I don't know when I'll be able to see you next, but know that you are foremost on my mind. Until next time._

_Love, Margo._

It was all he had left of Margo, and whenever he wondered if he actually had such strong emotions for her, it reminded him in vivid flashes what had passed between them. Margo had always been a friend, and they realized too late how good it felt to be something more. If he had brought harm to her….He brushed this line of thought away. It wasn't helping him find her.

Trent's next stop was Uppercuts. He needed Butch's help. The man was practically a yellowpages unto himself.

"Handwriting match?" Butch frowned.

"Someone not on the job anymore," Trent added. "It's a very sensitive case."

Butch frowned again; he could tell Trent was keeping something back. "Well, I suppose old Toones still owes me." Butch wrote down a number and held the paper out for Trent. "He's damn good at what he does; was the best in his day. Might still be, too, except he's retired." He jerked the paper away from Trent's grasp. "And Trent? If you get an answer from Toones, you owe _me_ an explanation. You're not tellin me everything, and it's not like you."

* * *

Stepping into the house Toones shared with his wife of thirty years, Trent had the impression that he must be the stingy sort. There was no art on the walls, and the carpet looked as old as its owners. The furniture seemed antique and dusty. Betty must not get around well anymore.

"Butch sent you?" Toones' eye dissected Trent, reading the young man as easily as Trent had sized him up. Toones decided there was something tragic in Trent's nature that pleased him. "Well, come on down." Toones hobbled stiffly down the stairs to his basement with his cane.

Trent had to stop and look around. He had been dead wrong about Toones. The man had money, which he had apparently used to set up a very modern, very extensive laboratory in the basement. Betty had heard them coming and met them at the bottom of the stair hands folded in front of her.

"I didn't realize we were expecting company," she said. Trent glanced to the left, the direction she had come from, and saw a nice office with plush carpeting, a nice leather chair, and an open laptop computer resting on an ornate antique desk.

"The PI I told you about," Toones said, pushing into the bright sterile lights of his lab.

"How exciting! Make him sign a waiver!" She disappeared into her office again, and Trent followed Toones.

"Sign this," Toones said, slapping a piece of paper on an uncovered surface. "Says you won't sue if a fictionalized version of our encounter were to end up in a novel."

Trent read the short disclaimer. "Your wife is an author?"

"Mystery. It pays the bills and keeps her happy. You going to sign or not?"

"Sounds like I don't have a choice," he mentioned as he scribbled something that looked like "Trenton Malloy" under the disclaimer.

By this time, Toones had put on goggles with magnifying lenses as thick as coke bottles. "Welp, let's see it!" Trent mutely handed over Margo's letter and the picture from the bank robbery. He hoped the note wasn't as obvious as he thought it was. After all it didn't mention any specifics…

Toones glanced at Trent over the ridiculous goggles, and the younger man knew that his affair with Margo would end up in a future mystery novel. Toones' attention turned back to the note as he examined the paper, the ink, the pressure of Margo's writing. Once, he even smelled it and gave Trent another knowing look.

Next he looked at the picture, his entire face seeming to sink into a thoughtful frown. He moved to a light table and jotted down a few notes. He put a thin piece of paper over Margo's note and began marking loops and spacings.

After a good deal of time had passed with no visible results, Trent began to wander the lab, looking at posters and framed samples on the walls.

"Well," Toones said finally. "This isn't her." He handed Trent the picture. "I can give you a kind of vague profile of this perp, though."

"From the handwriting?" Trent couldn't help sounding dubious.

"It's either right on, or completely wrong," Toones said. "But some of my characteristics aren't based on the style of writing, but more on what was written."

"Well, it's better than nothing," Trent said.

"Damn right it is! Ok, first, why it's not her: look at the T—I assume that's you—and the M—that's her."

"They don't look alike at all," Trent said sadly as he looked at the details Toones had marked.

"Nope. And the M should be dead on since she writes it a lot. But here's the thing about it: whoever wrote this thought hard about it. She knew the handwriting would be analyzed or could be analyzed, so she used capital letters to try to disguise herself. This woman normally uses very loopy, very frilly writing."

"Woman?"

"I believe so, and here's why," he added before Trent could question him further. "From the scene I can tell you this heist is a professional job. Lots of planning and recon went into it, and it was executed perfectly. Yet, whoever did this spray-painting was an amateur! Any hoodlum on the street knows that you can't hold spray paint too close to the wall because some of it will get on your hands, or too far because you'll get a splatter effect like this. And you don't get to be robbing banks without being a hoodlum first. Judging by the irregularity of the letter size and the sloppy way the "T" is crossed, she did this from too far away to have precise control. Maybe she didn't want to have to explain spray paint on her hands. Whoever she is, she has something to lose by being caught."

"Doesn't everybody?"

Toones shook his head. "Not caught by you or the police. Caught by someone close to her, a husband or child, close friend, et cetera. She's leading two lives in this. People close to her would be surprised to find out she's involved with this."

* * *

"Other suspects?" Trivette asked when Trent brought it up. "I don't know if you've noticed but we've got the Feds here because of a lack of suspects…"

Trent sighed. "I know, I know." This note was the key to everything. Trent's instinct was practically screaming as much. He just hadn't found a way to crack it yet. Toones had agreed to check it against any other suspects Trent could find, though. Trivette continued to talk about how frustrating the case was and how many dead ends and unsubstantiated leads there were as Trent surveyed the board. Ira Temp. Reformists. Margo Jones. His mind buzzed. "You haven't investigated the Thompsons, have you?" Trent interrupted. "Since Ira works for them?"

"Clean as a whistle," Trivette replied. "The Senator would never support a movement like this! It goes against everything he stands for!"

Trent's cell rang, and he answered it distractedly. It was Toones.

"My boy, you are the luckiest sonovagun I've ever met! The odds of me finding it! And you having it! It's astronomical!"

"What?" Trent was only half-listening to begin with, and Toones was talking in riddles.

"The hand writing! You left your case file here, and I found a match!"

"You did?" Trent's full attention was on Toones now.

"Exact match, my boy. It will hold up in court, I can guarantee that."

"Well who is it, Toones?" Trent grabbed a pen.

"Not over the phone. Bring the cavalry with you. I love an audience when I crack a case wide open."

Trent sighed. "We'll be there in 10."

Trent turned his attention back to Trivette and filled him in. The Ranger would meet him at Toones' place as soon as he pulled Walker away from the Feds. Trent hung up and wondered what Butch had gotten him into. At first glance Toones seemed harmless enough, but he was turning out to be just plain weird.

* * *

"I just boxed a lot of his stuff that he left at my place and never looked at it again. I don't even know if he realized I had it," Danae explained as she shifted boxes around in her storage locker. She finally found the one she wanted and slid it toward her eagerly.

Carlos squatted next to where she knelt with the box and slit the packaging tape with his pocket knife. Danae pulled hard on the flaps. Inside, he could see boxes of wedding invitations, picture frames, and knick knacks. Danae pulled out a wire-bound leather notebook that simply had the year embossed on the front. Her hands were shaking when she handed it to Carlos.

He thumbed through it quickly. Roger was a thorough man, apparently, prone to taking precise notes. His contact list was extensive, and Carlos was shocked to see a name he recognized. He moved on to the calendar section, where Roger's neat handwriting detailed cash and drug flow, locations, even exact times. Some of Roger's younger female clients didn't pay with cash. He looked at Danae to find that she was reading over his shoulder.

"He's such a bastard," she sobbed. Carlos put one arm around her shoulder, and tucked the book into his jacket pocket.

"Yes, but this will put Nic and several other drug dealers behind bars," he said gently. "That has to count for something."

"Not if I take it and leave your bodies," a strange voice replied from behind them.


	7. Chapter 7

"Something about this note caught my attention," Toones explained as he turned a paper around for Trent, Walker, and Trivette to see. "I still don't know what, but when I took a closer look at it, the 'm' matched precisely." He showed his diagrams of the crime scene photo and the sample paper.

Trent recognized it immediately; it was the application Ira Temp filled out for the Thompsons. The note Toones was referring to was a brief sentence written at the top of the page, not in Ira's handwriting: _This one's my favorite, let's hire him._

Loopy, elaborate writing. And the 'm's were a perfect match to the spray painting.

"Mrs. Thompson wrote this note," Trent said numbly.

"_These_ notes," Toones corrected, pointing to the crime scene photos. "She wrote this, too. She was there."

"Mrs. Thompson is part of the Reformists?" Trivette asked. "Does that make any sense?"

"It puts Margo in danger," Walker answered. He pulled out his phone to dial Agent Martin with the news.

"How did she know about Margo and me, though?" Trent asked aloud.

"Once they found out about her identity, it wouldn't be hard," Trivette said with a shrug.

Trent didn't hear him. Another memory flashed intensely, and he sat down on the floor abruptly. He remembered the train tracks, parking his car and using binoculars to observe the compound. He was excited, he remembered, because he had finally caught a glimpse of Margo after all these days of sleuthing. She was talking with another woman, but they were too far away for him to identify the stranger. But he would know Margo anywhere. The Reformists were apparently equal opportunity when it came to gender, race, and creed. He was trying to get a better look at Margo and her companion when a fist seized his collar. The binoculars were brushed aside and a bald-headed man pulled him out of the car. He was enormous, and all muscle, and with the surprise attack on his side, Trent didn't stand much of a chance.

"Ira. Ira found me staking out Margo. I had her picture in my pocket. That's how they found out," he whispered to the concerned Rangers. "I put her in danger."

Walker offered his hand. "We have to go, now. She doesn't have much time."

Trent watched the barely-controlled chaos that ensued at Ranger Headquarters following receipt of his information. He had been put on the back burner, of course, but Walker could sense how much he needed to be in the loop and let Trent observe, at least. Trent held his tongue while the disagreeable FBI liaison, Agent Martin, diagrammed a plan of attack. It was usual protocol: Assume Margo had been found out, and try to negotiate her safe return. Failing that, a SWAT-style raid was in order. Trent didn't like the part where Margo was expendable, and he told Walker as much.

"I promise we'll do everything we can to get her back, Trent. But things don't look good. They might have already killed her."

"She's alive, Walker," Trent argued. Walker recognized his tone as one that had come out of his own mouth many atime.

"I wish I shared your optimism," Agent Martin interjected. "You've been a real help on this case. If we find her alive, it's on you. I won't forget that." He offered his hand to Trent, who looked at it dumbly. Part of him respected Agent Martin's apology, but the part of him that was detached and cold, worried for Margo, made him turn and walk away without accepting.

Trent started up his Stingray and burned rubber. Long ago, Walker had taught him to obey his instincts. And right now, Trent's instincts screamed that Margo was in very real and immediate danger, and would not survive the day if left to the FBI. If anyone would have asked him, Trent would have claimed he didn't have a destination in mind as he drove. But as he turned onto streets and switched lanes, he realized he was driving straight for the old elementary school by the railroad tracks. He didn't have a plan or a gun, but he was going to rescue Margo Jones anyway.

* * *

Carlos and Danae sat on her couch. He had been relieved of his guns and knife by Nic, who leaned against the kitchen counter, his own gun lazily pointed in their direction. He was hopped up on something—Carlos could tell by his eyes—but that only made him more dangerous and unpredictable. As Nic flipped through his friend's day planner, each page seemed to set him more on edge. Carlos needed to diffuse the situation, now.

"You can take that and go, you know."

Nic looked up. "Oh, I don't think so. I'm not quite done with you yet."

"What more do you want from us?"

"Roger had a journal, too, didn't he?"

Carlos and Danae hadn't looked at it before Nic got the jump on them, and Danae had slyly slipped it through the slats of the locker into an adjacent unit as soon as she heard Nic's voice. Even if Nic escaped, they still had a chance to put him away if there was evidence in Roger's journal.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Carlos said. "That's all she had in the box."

"You can't believe a word she says," Nic leered.

Danae snorted. "Yeah, stoners are known for their accurate judgment of character and honesty…"

Nic leaned forward to strike her but Carlos put himself in the way. Nic's hand shook as he pointed the gun at Carlos' forehead.

"Who killed Roger?" Danae rasped out. Her question ended the stalemate.

"My boss," Nic said. "Because Roger was going to squeal. He was going to put the ENTIRE organization at risk for you." He trained the barrel on Danae, and this time his hand didn't shake.

"You could testify, bring down Roger's murderer," she said quietly.

"Not without implementing myself."

"You could finish what he started."

"These are not the kind of people you walk away from," Nic said desperately.

"Roger tried, at least. You're just a coward." Danae stood up, and Nic extended his gun. Carlos grabbed at Danae, trying to pull her back down. Apparently she wasn't sharing Carlos' idea to diffuse the situation. If anything, she seemed to be trying to antagonize him.

"I'm not the one who ran away. You destroyed him long before anyone put a bullet in his head." He shifted the gun up from her chest and stepped forward, pressing the barrel to her forehead.

Danae saw an opportunity and took it, ducking and turning away from the gun as she pulled Nic toward her, tripping him over the coffee table. Carlos was on the move even before the gun discharged, pulling Danae away from Nic. He turned to see Nic was bleeding from a gash in his forehead, where he had bludgeoned it on the unforgiving wooden arms of Danae's sofa. He had other minor cuts from where he had broken the glass of the coffee table. Two quick punches from Carlos, and Nic was unconscious.

"Are you ok?" Carlos asked as he grabbed Nic's gun.

Danae held her side as though she had a runner's cramp and breathed heavily. "Yeah. I think so." She was shaking from the adrenaline.

Carlos moved to the counter, where Nic had put his cell phone. He called 9-1-1 and had only just begun talking to the dispatcher when he heard another gun cocking. "Put down the phone, Carlito." Carlos turned slowly to see Raoul Ramirez in the doorway. Carlos put down the phone and his gun, though he did not shut off the phone.

"This day keeps getting better and better!" Carlos said.

Danae passed out.

* * *

Trent left his car a good distance away from the abandoned elementary school that served as the Reformists' headquarters. They knew the car. In all likelihood they were expecting him to return. Trent tried Carlos' cell phone again. He could sure use his friend's help right about now, but he could only get the voicemail. Trent hesitated. Carlos was obviously swamped with something and may need help himself. But Carlos could likely take care of himself, and Margo was in trouble now…

He called Kim. "Track down Carlos," he said.

"Any particular reason why?" she asked as she began typing on her keyboard.

"His phone is off or he's not answering it. I think something's wrong."

"I'll track his car and cross-reference its position to police reports…" She heard the dial tone; Trent had hung up. Carlos wasn't the only one in trouble, she thought. This woman, Margo, had Trent wound up pretty tight.

Trent skulked around the back of the building by the loading bay. There were fewer windows here, and his choice of entrances. He slipped inside after taking out one guard. Were they expecting a shipment? Or were they expecting the FBI to attack here for the same reasons Trent just had? To his left he heard the roar and stomps of a rallied crowd. He headed toward it, and came to the auditorium. Trent sprinted around the corner, heading for the back of the stage. Again, there was only a single guard posted. Lucky for him they seemed to be in the middle of a pep rally and had left minimal security.

The backstage area was perfect for Trent's purposes, providing ample opportunities to hide, and he could see the gathered crowd from the safety of the darkness behind the dusty, moth-eaten curtains.

Ira was at a podium, shouting antagonistic words at his audience. It was all anti-government, anti-law enforcement. They knew the FBI was coming, and they were getting ready to fight back. Ultimately, they were psyching themselves up to become martyrs for their cause.

Trent recognized several faces as upper-class friends of Beatrice, but there was one person Trent didn't see in the crowd: Margo. Was he too late? Did they have her somewhere else? Trent heard the click of high heels behind him on the stage, and he quickly scrambled up a nearby ladder to the catwalk. The view was better here, and he had the element of surprise if he wanted to attack. With luck, whoever had come behind him simply thought the guard he had taken out was patrolling around the corner. Trent was glad he had taken the time to stash the body among the moldy and broken stage props.

Trent's heart caught in his throat as he watched the stage below him. The heels belonged to Beatrice Thompson, who was dressed as if she just came from a press conference with her husband. Even here in the headquarters of a terrorist organization, dragging Margo behind her, she was all business.

"Meet Margo Jones," she said, taking the spotlight form Ira. He stepped back from the podium and took control of Bee's hostage. "You all know her as Julie the Key. There's not a safe she can't open, right?" Margo looked bad: tired, thin, worked over. She had been found out days ago and tortured. "The FBI knows her as Agent Jones, a junior field agent on her first big case. How's that working out for you, Margo?"

The crowd laughed at this, and Trent began to look around. The time to act was coming, and he was going to have to take on Ira Temp again to free Margo.

Beatrice continued her speech, and Trent began to realize that Ira actually deferred to her authority. She was a major player in this organization. Trent found a rope beside him. Bee's tirade had turned political; the soldiers in that auditorium weren't taking a stand for themselves, but for the country. For each one of them that died, hundreds more would have their eyes opened to the great hypocrisy and join their ranks.

"Margo."

Ira let go of Margo, who stood facing Bee, trembling.

"You've had a few days to think on it. Will you join us? Or will you die?"

Trent grabbed the rope and jumped.


	8. Chapter 8

"He's still alive," one of Ramirez' goons said about Nic in Spanish. Raoul nodded and pointed at Danae. The man stepped over to check on her, and Carlos started forward. Two others held him back.

"Not him," Carlos gritted out. "You know what he does."

Raoul pulled a silencer out of his pocket and attached it to the barrel of his pistol. "Watch yourself, Paco. Remember _we_ are the gentlemen here." He fired his gun twice into Nic's head.

Danae opened her eyes to see Paco's leering face, so close she could smell his musty breath, and she recoiled. "Carlos?" Carlos pulled away from his captors and went to her, putting himself between her and Paco.

"You ok?" he asked. Danae nodded, then her eyes changed from bewildered to frightened and she shook her head. She pulled up the hem of her shirt to show a sluggishly bleeding wound. She had fallen on some of the broken glass.

"It's not bad," she said uncertainly.

"Clean yourself up," Raoul said, indicating Danae's bathroom with a wave of his gun. "We'll need you alive and well before the day is done. Paco, go with her."

"Hands to yourself," Carlos warned Paco in Spanish. Danae squeezed his hand. She didn't speak a word of the language, but she recognized the tone in his voice and, she was pretty sure, the word _cojones_. She wasn't worried about herself at the moment; she had a pretty good idea what Raoul wanted from Carlos. "Your brother broke the law," Carlos said to Raoul as Danae stumbled down the short hallway to her bathroom. "He destroyed lives for money." Raoul hit him, and Carlos laughed as he wiped blood away from his lip. "He didn't want this life for you!" The second strike knocked him down.

"Take him to the back," Raoul said calmly. "We don't have much time."

* * *

It had only taken Kim minutes to tap into the 9-1-1 switchboard, and mere seconds to figure out their electronic filing system. She knew Carlos car was at Danae's apartment complex, so she typed that address in to the parameters field. Sure enough, there was a disconnected call from the location she would bet came from Carlos' phone, as well as a report of gun shots a little after that. Carlos' cell had not been traced yet due to his scrambled signal. Kim was the only one who could connect the two events. She chewed her fingernail; if the responding officers weren't warned, they could be taken by surprise. If Carlos of all people had been overpowered, then the unassuming responding officer didn't have a chance.

She had an idea, and within moments had found the extension number she needed. She held her breath while it rang through.

"Ryan."

"Detective Ryan," Kim said, speaking quickly. She needed to appear helpless, hopeless, and more than a little incompetent if she was going to get this man involved in saving Carlos' life. "My name is Kim Sutton. I'm the secretary for Thunder Investigations." Actually, she was the office manager, not a secretary, and she was mostly responsible for keeping the business running and successful. She abhorred being referred to as a secretary. But desperate times called for desperate measures, right?

There was a pause on Ryan's end. "Yeah?" Ryan sounded annoyed. Good.

"Well you know our agents are s'posed to check in every hour and Carlos Sandoval hasn't and when I called him a Hispanic answered the phone and sounded angry and I think he's in big trouble and I told him he should listen to you about Ramirez!"

"Ramirez?" Ryan was hooked.

"He said he was going to kill Carlos!" she wailed. From Ryan's reaction, she decided she could make a killing in Hollywood.

"Listen. I need you to calm down. You did the right thing. I need you to think hard. Do you know where he is?"

"I don't know," she let her voice tremble.

"Any appointments?"

Kim shuffled mail around her desk to make it seem like she was leafing through volumes of unorganized paperwork. "Um. It looks like he was going to make sure Danae's apartment was secure before he closed her case."

"Good. What's the address?"

"Don't yell at me!" She had to cover the mouthpiece on her handsfree set to muffle her laugh as Ryan apologized and tried to calm her down.

"Here it is." She sniffed again as if she'd been crying and gave him the address. Ryan hung up as soon as she gave it to him, and Kim sat back, taking off the headset. She turned on the TV and police scanners to wait for word on either of her men. Hopefully, they were as half as brilliant as she was.

* * *

Despite the element of surprise, Trent was getting his ass kicked. Hard. Ira's enormous boot sent him sprawling again, and he rolled away easily to buy himself time. Making Ira come to him would wear him out, too. Instead, Ira looked to Bee, and Trent got his lucky break. At first he had thought Ira was deferring power to his employer, but he couldn't figure out how Beatrice had risen to power so quickly in such an established organization. The answer was in the look Ira and Bee shared: they were in love!

Trent put Bee between himself and Ira. Margo was behind him, sprawled on the stage. He didn't lay a hand on the senator's wife, but Ira knew that he could. Bee looked from Trent to Ira warily. "How about we calm down here for a minute?" he asked. Ira hesitated, and suddenly the doors at the back of the auditorium slammed open.

"They're here!" a man in a Kevlar vest exclaimed. He was armed with what looked to be a sniper rifle, which he carried with the barrel pointed down to the ground. "The Feds are here!"

Ira and Bee looked at each other. "To your posts!" Bee shouted. She turned to Trent. "We'll deal with you two later." She ran to Ira, grabbing his hand and pulling him away into the moving crowd. Trent grabbed Margo and ushered her off the stage back the way he had come. There were more guards in the hallways now, and unlike Bee and Ira they did seem to care about the escaping duo. Trent made short work of the first two, while Margo launched herself at a third coming around the corner.

"We need to get out of here," she said.

"I'm open to ideas!" he tossed back, as yet another wannabe-soldier came at them. The more time passed, the more they were dressed like the sniper with vests, helmets, and weapons. Margo grabbed his hand and ran back toward the stage with him.

"They're moving to defend the entrances," she explained. As long as we stay away from them, we should be fine. They've got a political war to start just now. But make no mistake: if their position is compromised, they can and will blow this entire building!" She climbed up the catwalk ladder Trent had found earlier, then dashed across the catwalk itself, high above the now-empty auditorium. They came to a control booth, and Margo reached up to displace a ceiling tile. She squirmed her way into the hole she'd made and offered Trent a hand.

He followed her through the ceiling silently. They must be above the second floor. Finally she stopped and pulled up a tile to peek down. Trent could smell smoke. Was it smoke from a flash grenade or smoke from the building burning? Margo let herself down and waited for Trent to land beside her.

"Stairway," she mouthed to him. She pointed down and they began their silent descent. Between the two of them, they disposed of the five people they met. Margo stopped Trent after the last armed Reformist and whispered to him "Why don't we play a little dress up?" Admittedly, undressing the unconscious man and woman took time, as did donning all that attire, but it proved to be a good idea when the fire alarm and sprinklers went off. Soot-streaked Reformists streamed into the stairwell, headed for the outside. Apparently the building was on fire in a major way, and those Reformists not quite ready to martyr themselves in a fiery explosion were getting out while they could.

Margo took off her helmet as soon as she was outside so that the waiting Rangers and FBI agents could recognize her. "It's going to blow!" she yelled, ushering people further away from the building. Trent could see flames poking out of windows and felt uneasy. He grabbed her hand again and pulled her toward the barricade of police vehicles. The force of the explosion knocked them forward onto the grass. Trent took the brunt of the impact on his forearms and belly, then rolled to standing. He hefted Margo up by her waist and dragged her further away. They could feel the intense heat from a second explosion on their backs; if they had stayed put, they would be burnt right now.

Professionally, each checked the other to make sure they were uninjured. Finally, rush of the frenzied fight, explosion, and awe of seeing each other again died, and Trent smiled broadly at Margo.

"It's really you," he said. "I thought I lost you…" He was stopped from explaining the worry he and her parents experienced during her absence because she silenced him with a dizzying kiss.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" she grinned, eyes sparkling.

"Too long," he agreed as he leaned in to meet her lips again.

"You taste like ashes," she giggled, and Trent pulled her in for a tight hug.

"Agent Jones." Agent Martin had found them. "There's work to be done."

"Yes sir," she said, letting go of Trent and taking a gun. Martin gave her orders, and she quickly ran to obey.

"I'll get her back to you as soon as I can," Martin said.

* * *

Danae shut the door behind her and ran hot water in the sink. She could hear Raoul and Carlos in her bedroom, and the sounds made her sick. Every minute or so, Paco would knock on the door and tell her to finish her business. She had cleaned her wound and dressed it; now she lay on the cold bathroom tiles and tried not to cry. She no longer cared if she lived through this, but she felt helpless when she thought of the grim fate Carlos would undoubtedly meet. It was all her fault. "Uno momento, por favor!" she yelled as Paco knocked again, exhausting her knowledge of Spanish in a single sentence. She stood and washed her face and hands…and had an epiphany. It was a long shot, but it just might work.

When she opened the door to the bathroom, she fell immediately into her guard's hands. Unprepared, he caught her with both hands, releasing his hold on his gun. Quickly, she sprayed an aerosol can of bathroom freshener in his eyes, and she took his gun while he screamed in pain. Roughly, she shoved him inside the bathroom and used a hand towel to bind his hands as best she could. She shoved a washcloth in his mouth to keep him from attracting too much attention.

Quietly, she peeked out of the room. She saw no-one. She figured Raoul was probably working Carlos over while his other two minions held him. She tiptoed across the short hallway to the bedroom and stopped. She had never shot a gun before, and while she knew she should pull the trigger, she didn't know if there was a safety. If she opened that door and couldn't pull the trigger, she and Carlos would both be dead.

She heard a cracking sound as someone kicked through her front door, and she turned to open the closet door behind her. With any luck, whoever had just come in hadn't seen her hide. She heard indistinct shouting and decided to feel around on the gun to see if she could locate a safety. _Did gangs even bother with safety mechanisms_? she wondered.

Heavy footsteps got closer and she pointed the gun forward, leveling it at about the height she thought a man might stand. There was another sound of splintering wood as her bedroom door was destroyed, and this time she could tell that the shouts were saying "Dallas PD." Two shots rang out, and she could hear the sounds of struggle underneath exclamations to stay down, put your hands up, you're under arrest.

"Danae!" she heard her name as someone knocked on the closet door. "Danae it's Detective Ryan. I'm going to open this door, ok? Put down the gun and don't shoot at me."

True to his word, the closet door opened, and there he stood. Danae finally put the gun down, slowly so that it didn't discharge, and she stood up. "Where's Carlos?"

"Well he could use your help, if you're up to it," Ryan said. She could tell by how large his eyes were that he didn't trust her just yet. He expected her to break down into female hysterics at any moment. He was trying to appeal to her professional side just now to keep her in check.

"There's a first aid kit in the bathroom, if you please," she said as she walked into her now-demolished bedroom. Her body felt light and rubbery, and she jumped when she stepped on a piece of broken lamp. "Carlos?"

"Danae." The "n" sound almost didn't come out. She turned on the lamp and saw that the lighting mechanism still worked, even if the base was in pieces. Carlos' face looked horrible in the naked light.

"Can you get up on the bed?" She grabbed him around the biggest part of his chest and helped him stand. She propped him up on some pillows and took the first aid kit from Ryan.

"The ambulance is only a couple minutes out."

She soaked gauze in sterilized water and began washing Carlos' face. His nose was definitely broken, but the rest of his skull seemed to be in tact from what she could feel. It was his heavily bleeding nose that made it look so bad. Taking a pen light, she checked his pupils.

"How do I look?" he asked. His left pupil was dilated, his hair was sticking out at angles, and he had blood all over his clothing.

Danae laughed. "Like you're on speed."

Carlos winced. "I want a second opinion."

"A very handsome guy on speed?" she tried again. She began to prod at his ribs to check their integrity. By the time the paramedics came, Danae had cleaned up the worst of his wounds. She decreed he would need a CT scan for his concussion and rest for his cracked rib and broken nose. The paramedics were more interested on getting her into a gurney for her own injuries and having real doctors evaluate them.


	9. Chapter 9

Everyone stayed the night at the hospital. Margo was dehydrated and malnourished. Carlos, thankfully, didn't need any surgery for his nose, but they kept him for observation on his concussion. Danae stayed mostly because her apartment was unlivable at this point and she had nowhere else to go. Trent would only leave Carlos' side to check on Margo, or Margo's side to see to Carlos.

"Kim, you're a genius!" Carlos declared as she arrived. "Ryan was just here, and he told me what you did."

"I'm just glad it worked!" she replied shyly.

"You and me both," he said. "You know you have a real knack for manipulating people."

"Thanks?"

"It's a good thing in this business, I swear," he said. He laughed. "Heck, it's good for other things, too."

"Such as?" Kim ventured, though she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Women. Hey, baby!" he said brightly as Dr. Chase came into the room. "I was just thinking about you!"

"You look awful," she replied evenly.

"I could use a little TLC," Carlos admitted. "Kiss the boo-boo?" he pointed to a butterfly bandage just above his left eyebrow. Kim rolled her eyes and took her leave. She could see where this was going and she didn't want to see it.

* * *

The next couple of days seemed to drag in comparison to the frenzied week that preceded it. Margo and Trent holed up in Margo's apartment, not to be seen except when they occasionally surfaced to find food. They had a lot of catching up to do. Kim and Carlos were busy with paperwork, both for the Dallas PD and for their own records. Danae had disappeared almost as soon as she was discharged from the hospital. Feeling like her welcome had been worn out, she enlisted Butch's help to find a new apartment and some guys to help her move what was left of her possessions on such a short notice.

"What you don't realize," Carlos said, surprising her, "is that Butch tells me everything." She had been pacing outside of Uppercuts, unsure whether to go up to Thunder Investigations and see Carlos. Butch had seen her and called Carlos, who had demanded to be notified at once if Danae showed up again. He was upset to have not been able to help her find a place to live.

"I was just…"

"We've been worried," Carlos interrupted her. "How's the new apartment?"

Danae ducked her head. "It's good," she said without much conviction.

"So, are we going to be friends?" Carlos asked. "Or are you just going to disappear forever?"

"I thought about moving again," she said, meeting his eyes for the first time. "But, I don't know. It kinda feels like running away or something. Besides, I like it here. The people are friendly." Carlos snorted. "I just…I don't know how this works. I mean, you and I almost ended up dead. How do you get past that?"

"Oh please. This isn't almost dead!" Carlos indicated his face. "Being shot in the chest and falling three stories out of a building only to be taken to a homeless shelter instead of a hospital, that's almost dead!"

Danae smiled shyly. "So can I buy y'all lunch or something?" she asked.

"Like Butch will let you pay," he scoffed. "But yes. Actually, Kim and I were wondering if you'd be willing to donate your skills to Thunder Investigations. A new case has come up: a woman claims her house is haunted!" He put his arm around Danae and led her up the steps to Thunder Investigations, filling in the details.

Kim was mildly surprised to see Danae come into the office with Carlos. She figured Danae would skip town after everything that had happened. But instead, it seemed like Danae was becoming an informal part of the group. Everything had changed in the past week, Kim decided. It was too early to decide if it was for the better. Or for the worse?


End file.
